


Best laid plans...

by alinewrites



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M, Post Gauda Prime, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinewrites/pseuds/alinewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peace is hard on Blake... His old friends try to help</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best laid plans...

“You’d better find this file before I really lose it; what the hell did you learn in that school of yours?”

They could hear him yelling again from the far end of the corridor where the presidential office was and Vila wondered *who* the victim was this time –some poor guy whose only fault was that he wasn’t *there* when they were risking their necks all through the galaxy; someone who’d just made a mistake, or been too slow to retrieve something for the President of the New Republic. It didn’t matter much why Blake was shouting, or who he was shouting at. He’d be sorry later, apologize to the terrified victim, even have a drink with him, pat his back; and do it all over again the next day. Turn any meeting into an exhausting battle, slam his fist on the table with enough strength to shatter the glass laid there. He could be nasty too. Tyrannical. Intolerant…

His decisions clouded by an unaccountable rage. 

“It sounds like our beloved President has some anger issues,” a voice said from the door, clear and cold.

“I wished he’d just stop shouting all the time. What is he so angry about? Did you tell him something, Avon?”

Avon walked in, tightly buttoned in a dark leather jacket and shrugged. 

“He’s bored,” he said “He’s simply bored. It was one thing to fight for that beloved cause of his – a dangerous but an exciting endeavour from his point of view. Ruling a government lacks much of the excitement.”

He sat near the computer and looked at it with rapt attention.

“Are you bored, Avon?”  
“Very much so. And very happy to be. Boredom, money and lots of free time to run new programs on sophisticated machines make me as happy as possible. You?”  
“Mmmm. Not bored. Just…”

The yelling resumed and Avon sighed, walked up and closed the door.

“He needs a lost dangerous cause to keep his mind occupied,” he said, “ or preferably an impossible challenge. Being a President isn’t what he imagined it would be. How long still?”  
“One year, three months and 6 weeks,” Vila said with a suffering look.  
“If he’s not elected again. And he might well be, considering how much the rabble loves him.”  
“Avon, we have to do something. Find him a lost dangerous… what you said. So he’ll throw part of his energy in it and be much easier to deal with.”

Avon didn’t answer, mesmerized by the pattern of erratic lines tracing a multicoloured web on a screen, results of a random program he’d made 2 days earlier. He wondered if this sight would soothe Blake as it soothed him. No. Blake wasn’t much into contemplating, he needed action.

“Find something, and fast!”

Tarrant had joined them, looking a little upset. And older. That was a personal satisfaction to Avon, how the former pilot’s insouciance and youth had vanished and how worry lines were beginning to mark the new Supreme Commander’s face. Of course he wasn’t getting any younger himself, but he liked to think that he didn’t look quite as battered as Tarrant did. Then again, it had only been two days since Tarrent had come back from his latest mission so maybe it was just tiredness.

“Preferably before I strangle Blake myself,” Tarrant added.  
“Ah now that would be an entertaining moment. But since none of us seem to have any valuable idea to improve our adulated President’s mood, why not ask Orac?” 

Avon had that privilege, keeping Orac in his own office, down below in the basement with the other computers –no one ever walked down there; the place wasn’t that pleasant and the man who worked there… Well. It took something really important for anybody to dare make the trip. Blake himself had never set foot in Avon’s office; every time he needed Orac Avon brought it up to him.

Orac came up with something that made Vila and Tarrant enthusiastic. Avon looked… dismayed. But he was as tired as the others of listening to Blake’s outbursts and after all… It wasn’t as if Avon had never done this before. Of course it had been long ago but he didn’t think he’d quite lost the knack. Memories of a misspent youth. Oddly pleasant memories, Avon thought. 

“I’m sure he misses fighting you,” Vila said.  
“I certainly don’t. My life is much more peaceful now.”  
“And boring.”

He prowled the office like a panther for a while and turned to Vila, then Tarrant, then Vila again. 

“Why me?”  
“You’re the only one here. Jenna’s gone for this trip and anyway you can’t consider her as an impossible challenge, can you? She's too easy. You’re the best, Avon.”

Of course he was. 

“Tarrant, you’re younger.”  
“But I can’t *do* this. And he doesn’t want me to anyway.”  
“And what makes you believe Blake wants *me* to do it? He never showed much interest in this kind of thing before, did he?”

Vila frowned. “You didn’t give him much of a chance…”  
“And don’t even begin to believe I will this time.”

Because if I do, who knows how it will end?

Tarrant hesitated. “Well… You owe him, don’t you? After all… He forgave you.”

Avon turned to his former pilot, baring his teeth at him like a mad dog.

“I. Owe. Blake. Nothing. Nothing,” Avon said in a snarl “And coming from you *this* is just…”

A door slammed in the distance, distracting them from their impending fight.

“All right,” Vila said with a resigned sigh “then we’ll have to find something else. Or someone else. Although I still think you’re the only one who stands a chance, Avon.”  
“Shut up, Vila.”

But maybe, just maybe it would be fun after all. It had been a long time since they’d had a real fight or even a real conversation, thinking of it. Blake avoided him most of the time –or maybe he was too busy; and Avon didn’t look for company, never had. Dancing around each other like fools, they were. It had been 5 years and although the forgiveness had been made public and official, Avon didn’t quite believe it. *He* certainly wouldn’t have forgiven Blake, had the roles been reversed. He hadn’t quite forgiven Blake yet for putting him in such an uncomfortable position. 

So, this… Might be a new start. 

I don’t want a new start; I want to get rid of the man. 

But let’s face it, Avon, you didn’t manage to get away, did you? You swore you’d go back to your previous life, richer, and untouchable and here you are, still slaying dragons on Blake’s behalf. 

He looked at Vila, then Tarrant, remembered them falling to the ground on Gauda Prime, remembered his own paralysis, his fear, his despair… When had they become such an important part of his life? When had he begun to *care*? 

“All right,” he said in a clipped tone “I’ll do it.”

**********************

It was very late and Blake wasn’t sleeping. Sleep had been evading him for a while now, making nights difficult to go through. Ironic, since it had been so easy to sleep back then on the Liberator when their lives had been at stake; collapsing on his bunk and sleeping like a log for hours until the next shift. An urgency, a need, something like a reward. And now he would consider himself happy if he could manage to get three hours of real sleep…

He crossed the hall and walked along the corridor leading to his office. Since he couldn’t sleep, he’d work. Reading all these files again would maybe prove more efficient than any doctors’ sleeping pills.

Walking further he passed the meeting room -and froze. The door was open, a soft light coming from within. Was there someone there or had they just forgotten to lock it? No one was supposed to have the key apart from the security guards and himself. Never before had this door stayed open at night. Instinctively he felt out for a weapon, which of course he didn’t have and nonetheless, stepped inside. The room was empty, chairs carefully lined up, the wood of the huge round table polished, the curtains drawn… Blake was about to walk back and shout out for the security and maintenance team when he saw something on the floor. A book. Fallen open on the thick carpet. 

Blake hesitated for a single second and walked stealthily toward the other side of the room. That could be a trap; everyone around him was obsessed with the possibility of an assassination, perpetrated by those who still supported the dead Federation, hidden, silent, unknown, some of them probably in the place… 

But when did I ever resist the temptation of a trap? 

The light came from a lamp set on a small ornate table, and on the old brown leather couch that had belonged to a former President and been left here, a man was lying, asleep, his hair mussed, lips half-parted in a delighted smile, black linen shirt unbuttoned and—Blake noted with some embarrassment—a hand resting over his groin inside his undone trousers. He could see a trail of dark hair near the wrist.

Goodness. *that* was unexpected. Any man asleep here was actually unexpected but *this* man in such a vulnerable position was…

Blake failed to find a word and bent forward to pick up the book. He expected something really weird, about computers maybe, mathematics at least but what he found…

“The man in my dreams”, he read and suppressed delighted laughter. “Oh Avon, should I have known before that you had a soft spot for pulp literature I would’ve used that bit of information to keep you quiet.”

He should go, really; Avon would hate being caught like this and there would be one hell of a scene if he woke up. 

Not that there were many of them now; the memory of Gauda Prime was hovering between them like a wide open gap, each of them standing on one edge of it - they’d become cautious, trying not to take the lethal step forward. Unanswered questions, closed matter. 

Avon held no official responsibility inside the government—Blake hadn’t offered and Avon hadn’t asked—but he ran with lethal efficiency the secret services Blake hated with a passion, claiming that the new system didn’t need such a thing. He was wrong, he knew; Avon had already found out some groups who planned to restore the old Federation. A lost cause maybe, but such had been his own not so long ago. So he just pretended Avon was around to look after the computers and didn’t ask more than he was supposed to.

But now, really, Avon sleeping here, looking relaxed and happier than he’d ever seen him, a mischievous half-smile on his lips, and obviously… sated, which was more than Blake could say for himself… 

Avon shifted and sighed, literally purring in his sleep… Blake smiled. Nice skin. Nice chest, beautiful kissable lips, long lashes, nice… Ooops, Blake, you don’t want to go there. 

Still, his hand moved instinctively to brush against a high cheekbone, then higher to push back a strand of longish hair and Avon let out a delighted sigh again.

Blake stepped back, blushing.

That was embarrassing. Exciting. Intriguing. Very. And the book…

“Blake? What are you doing here?”

Hazel eyes, open now, stared at him in shock. Blake stiffened at the outraged tone.

“I live here, remember? I saw the light and the door was open so I thought I’d give a look.”  
“It could’ve been a trap.”  
“I thought it could.”  
“Of course you did, what was I thinking? So you had to run into it, just in case.”

Avon looked around, winced, and, sliding his hand out of his trousers, stretched, yawning with catlike grace, exposing more skin and giving Blake a nice view of his cock. 

“I fell asleep, I think.”  
“I can see that.”  
“I was dreaming of the Liberator, back in the old days.”  
“Were you? You were looking really happy and I can’t remember any moment on the Liberator when you were happy, Avon.”

Blake wanted to bite back the words, and the lecturing tone –too late. Avon frowned and sat down, zipping up his trousers.

“That dream… You’d planned another suicidal attack against a base and I was supposed to join you down but I think I was about to find a way to run away from you. With the ship and Orac and the treasure. Nice dream.”

Blake looked down just when Avon looked up at him, his eyes guarded. Anger and disappointment rose. Of course. What had he been thinking? Looking back to the past with rosy-coloured glasses, as always. Forgetting how it had really been. He sighed inwardly.

Ah, Avon. 

“I can imagine it was,” Blake said in a harsh tone but then Avon was rising, standing so close Blake could feel the warmth and the scent of him, something very particular he’d never realized missing; something which made him think of fur and leather and… oh, dangerous thread of thought, that. He wanted to step back but Avon was looking around.

“Did you find a book?”  
“Err… Are you talking about this?”

Avon looked at it with a thoughtful expression. “It’s Vila’s; I bet it’s the only book he ever read; and probably he mistook it for something else because honestly, I didn’t think gay sex did anything for him…”

From the hiding place where he was standing, Vila heard that and blushed, afraid that Avon was overdoing it. But Blake looked more mesmerized than anything else, looking deep into Avon’s eyes. Lost.

Good move, after all.

“I’ll go back to my room,” Avon said “I need to sleep on something a little more comfortable. And take a shower, for that matter.”

Blake growled deep in his throat, looking like he was about to pounce but Avon was already gone, long stride across the room, black and slim and menacing and…

Blake was still looking at the place where Avon had been standing. After a while he turned on his heels, shaking his head, confused... 

…Off balance. Intrigued, questions rising and curiosity stirring inside him. Enough to make him want to look for answers. That was a new and welcome sensation, disrupting the boring monotony of his life. And being curious about Avon always proved to hold a hint of danger that made it all worthwhile. 

Vila walked out minutes after Blake and joined Avon and Tarrant in his office.

“You got him, Avon,” Vila said, not even unphased by Avon’s scowl.

“That was the most ridiculous and embarrassing moment in my whole life. And the book, Vila… Next time choose something a little less obvious!”  
“You didn’t look embarrassed or ridiculous. Well Blake did look embarrassed, I’d say. And when it comes to this kind of thing, obvious is what it takes.”

Tarrant looked at them, ran a hand through his hardly disciplined curls.

“First part over and done with,” he said.  
“I’m beginning to wish I’d never agreed to Orac’s plan. If it fails, I’ll be ridiculous; if it works I’ll have to bear with Blake’s annoying advances for a whole year. That will be more than I can take, I’m afraid.”  
“You could surrender,” Vila suggested.

Avon glared at him. “Over your dead body, Vila.”  
“Don’t surrender, then. Just… make it work in some smart way of yours.”

Avon smiled. “Oh I will keep him occupied, Vila; I will, you can count on that.”

Tarrant and Vila watched Avon prowl out of the room and exchanged a glance.

“Poor Blake,” Tarrant said “I almost feel sorry for him. He doesn’t stand a chance with Avon.”

Memories of nights spent in Avon’s cabin after one of their uncomplicated, stress relieving and inconsequential sex sessions made Vila think otherwise. In his sleep, Avon tended to whisper a lot and among the senseless, meaningless words, protestations and growls, the only audible word to Vila’s finely tuned ears had been Blake’s name.

“Don’t underestimate Blake, Tarrant. He’s not the easy-going nice man most of the people see in him. He can be a real bastard. And very perceptive when it comes to Avon, too.”

Tarrant raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Anyway, this should be an interesting year.”  
“Oh yes. I could sit here with a bottle of brandy and just watch the show. I might even sell tickets.”  
“Still, I don’t think Avon can lose the game.”

He smiled wickedly at Tarrant and replied:

“Well… Want to lay a bet?”


End file.
